3 fact guessing
by pigpuffpickle
Summary: After getting drunk at Lestrade's party, the gang decide to play a game in which each person must write 3 facts about themselves, anonymous of course, and put it in a hat. The group must pick one out, and try to guess who it was. The only person who can remember the previous night is Sherlock, who has a couple of questions for John. Rated T for crossdressing. Review, Review, Review
1. Chapter 1

**John's POV**

All I wanted to do was have a cup of tea, maybe some toast and jam, followed by a nice, long bath. But no, Sherlock and I had to go to a birthday party for Greg Lestrade.

If I was miserable about the whole ordeal, Sherlock was devastated. As I pulled my jumped over my head and Sherlock was wrapping his scarf around his neck, he gave me a pleading look.

"I don't want to go," He said.

"Sherlock, no, we have to," As much as I wanted to grant his wishes, out of respect, we had to go, "Come on, it's Lestrade that gives you all your cases,"

Sherlock grumbled something under his breath. Due to the predicament of what to get him, we were instructed by Sally Donovan to get a large chocolate cake.

That was what I carried down the stairs and we trudged reluctantly towards the taxi.

I gave one last longing look to 221B, saying goodbye to my cup of tea, my toast and jam and my nice, long bath.

**Sherlock's POV**

The party, if you could call it that, was a sorrowful affair. Of the seven of us that attended (That seven being myself, John, Mrs Hudson, Mycroft, Molly, Donovan and Lestrade), I seemed to be the one everyone wished to talk to.

I myself have no desire for small talk, but the occasional look from my blogger told me I should be a little less rude tonight.

Whereas everyone else was boarding on drunk, I merely drank glasses of water. I find it hard to deduce when drunk, or suffering from a hangover, and the games that the now past-the-boarder-line-of-drunk people where playing did not appeal to me.

Molly suggested that they played, "3 fact guessing,", a game, which I learned, in which each person anonymously wrote 3 facts about themselves that nobody knows on a piece of paper, they all put it in a hat and each person picks out on and has to guess who it is, after reading the facts out loud.

So the seven of us sat in a circle (Although I wasn't pretending, I was interested at what the others would write), and five of them waited for paper and pens, which Molly had gone to collect.

While we where waiting, John (who was drunk as well), dipped his hands into his drink and proceed to flick the water at people, which caused some hilarity from everyone else that wasn't me.

I watched John as he wrote, folded the paper three times, and dropped it in the hat. Donovan passed the hat around, and everyone took a note from the hat, apart from myself of course. Judging by the handwriting in them, and the way the paper was folded, I could have probably guessed who each person was in seconds, but I decided to keep my mouth shut.

"That's not fair on our here Sherlock," Molly hiccupped, "I'll give him my note," She leaned over and passed me her note and I took it slowly.

Based on the intent stares from the group, it was apparent that I was to go first.

"Number one," I read out, "I like to dress like a woman,"

The entire group began to laugh, and Lestrade pointed at Mycroft, and they all laughed even more, including my brother. Not a bad deduction.

"Number two," I said, hearing a few immature drunk sniggers from Mrs Hudson, "I kiss a guy once, and I like it,"

Before anyone could react, I read out number three, "Number three, I am madly in love with Sherlock Holmes,"

There was a brief silence, before Lestrade whispered loudly enough for everyone to hear, "Mycroft,"

While the whole group laughed, I glanced at the note, figuring out who it could be.

Judging by the slight dampness of the paper, the smell of alcohol coming from the stains, and the eight squares on it that could only come from someone who folded the paper three times, the note had to belong to…

Oh.


	2. Chapter 2

**John's POV**

I woke up with a pounding headache, and no memory of the previous night. I was in my bed, fully dressed, apart from my shoes and socks which I must have taken off before I got to sleep.

I searched my brain for any memories of last night. Ah, it was Lestrade's birthday party wasn't it? Oh God, I must have got drunk.

I sat up, and rubbed my face. I swung my legs of the edge of the bed, and stood up, suddenly feeling dizzy.

I staggered into the living room, and dropped instantly down on the couch. I heard Sherlock's voice.

"Ah, I see you're awake,"

It took all my energy to look up. I saw Sherlock standing over me in his pyjamas and robe, holding a cup.

"I made you a nice warm cup of tea," He said, not passing it too me, or moving. I sat up, and took it from him.

I spat it out, "Sherlock, this is horrible!"

"Warm cup of tea,"

"This isn't even warm,"

"Cup of tea,"

"Is that even tea?"

"Cup,"

I sighed, and put it down on the table. Sherlock sat on the other couch, upside down, hands together in the preying fashion.

"Uh, Sher, what happened last night?" I asked. Sherlock looked up at me in all serious, and said,

"You all got pissed," It was a shock to hear him swear, but before I could say anything, he continued, "By the time we got home, you passed out in the living room, so I put you in your bed and took your shoes and socks off,"

"Oh thanks," So it was Sherlock, "But did I do anything worse than that, like something horribly embarrassing?"

"You found it hilarious to flick beer at people, if that could be embarrassing,"

I sighed, ok, that wasn't too bad.

"Anything else?"

"You played games,"

Oh God.

"What kind of games?"

Sherlock shrugged, "Typical pub games I suppose,"

I nodded. Okay, that wasn't awful. Sherlock suddenly spun around, and sat in a goat like fashion on the couch.

"John, are you gay?"

**Sherlock's POV**

John grew bright red.

"I mean, its okay if you are, I don't mind, I mean, I'm not against all that stuff," I stumbled over my words, which ruined the speech I had prepared.

John stared, "What- no, Sherlock, I'm not gay,"

"Oh, of course, I was just wondering, I mean the jumpers and all, one would think otherwise, but there you are, telling me your not, and of course I am going to believe you,"

Damn it. I was going to question John about last nights facts, however he seemed to have forgotten completely.

"Is this to do with last night?" John asked, "Oh God, I didn't kiss you or hit on you did I?"

"No, you didn't," I reassured him. He sank into couch.

"Did I hit on Mycroft?"

I stifled a snigger, and told him that no, he didn't try to get it off with my older brother.

"What then?"

I hesitated, then pulled the note out my pocket. He stared.

"What's that?"

"Last night, you all played a game in which a person was to write 3 things about themselves that nobody knew, and put it in a hat. One person had to pick a note and read out the facts, and everyone had to guess who it was,"

"Right?"

"This is your note,"

I paused briefly, staring at the damp piece of paper, then passed it over to him.

John eyes skimmed down the page, then filled with horror.

"No, no Sherlock, I didn't write this!" He denied.

"Of course you did," I said casually, leaning back in my seat, "You know that's your handwriting,"

John ran his hands through his hair, "Does everyone know about this?"

Sherlock shrugged, "I doubt it. They were equally, if not, more drunk than you,"

John shook the paper, and glanced at it again, "Why is their a lipstick stain on the edge of it?"

**John's POV**

Sherlock went bright red, and grabbed it off of me, examining the lipstick.

"Molly's," He said. He tucked the paper in his robe, and got up to walk away. I turned to him.

"Sherlock,"

"Yes, John,"

"Don't tell anyone,"

"Of course not John,"

"Do you believe what I wrote?" I asked, worriedly.

Sherlock looked at my face, and looked away, muttering, "If you tell me it's not true, I believe you,"


	3. Chapter 3

**Sherlock's POV**

John's lying. When he was denying the note, he grew bright red, and didn't keep much eye contact with me. He also rubbed his hands on his trousers, showing that he was sweating. Typical signs of someone that is lying.

So why can't he tell me the truth? Is his embarrassed? It doesn't bother me; I'd just like to know.

I made my way into the kitchen, unsure of why I was there. I'd came to the conclusion earlier on that I couldn't make tea, so I wandered back into the living room, where John was sitting on his laptop.

"Blogging?" I asked, desperate to make conversation.

He glances up, and looked at me briefly, and shook his head.

"Oh, ok,"

I picked up my violin and played a short tune, but got no reaction from John. The only noise came from the furious pressing down of the keys coming from John's laptop.

Suddenly John stood up, "I'm going to go out tonight,"

I nodded, but felt a little disappointed, "Ok, me too,"

John gave me a sideways glance, "Where?"

"Don't know, probably walk around," I suggested. John nodded, and went into his bedroom, and returned carrying a rucksack.

"Right, um, I'll see you,"

**John's POV**

I held my breath until I left the house. I ran down the street, and turned the corner before I called for a taxi.

That note. Oh God, that damn fucking note. I hope Sherlock believed me when I said it wasn't true. I just couldn't bare it if he didn't accept….my way of life.

The taxi dropped me off outside the night club, and I paid him and left.

I ducked into the night club, it was an over 18's night, so there would be no annoying teenagers.

I raced into the bathroom, and unzipped my bag.

Ten minutes later, after hiding my bag behind the toilet, I slipped out the bathroom and took a deep breath.

I shuffled over to the bar and sat down, ordered a drink and waited.

Suddenly, a man sat down next to me.

"Hey girl," He said, winking at me. Woah. I slowly moved to the side, but he put his hands around my shoulders.

I raised my eyebrow, and didn't say anything. His breath reeked of alcohol.

Suddenly, he winked again, and slid his hand down my chest, to my (fake) breasts. This was too much.

"I'm a man," I said shortly, and then I turned around and took a sip of my drink. The man swore, called me a freak, and proceeded to fall off the chair.

I heard a laugh from the end of the bar, and looked up to see a woman approach me. She was tall, skinny and very beautiful. She had long, bouncy brown hair, and wore a long red dress that hugged her figure.

"I saw what happened," She said, sitting on the chair next to me, "You seem nice,"

"You don't mind about," I gestured towards my groin, and gave her a look as if to say, "You know what I mean,"

She shrugged, "I'm a guy too,"

My eyebrows shot up, "No," I said in disbelief.

She, he, laughed, "I'm Sheridan," She pronounced it like, "SHARE-den,"

"Jo," I replied, and we shook hands.

"So, Jo, what are you doing here?" She asked. I shrugged.

"Had a lousy day,"

Sheridan sensed there was something else, "And…?"

"And I was hoping to meet somebody,"

"Well, you met me, does that count?"

I laughed, "It might do,"

"I was looking to meet somebody as well actually," She said.

We talked for a bit longer. I was hooked. She was smart, funny, witty and very kind.

"So, Jo, what do you do for a living?"

"Oh me? I'm a doctor," I said, "Nothing special though, just a GP kind of thing,"

"Oh, fancy,"

"Yourself?"

She shrugged, "I don't have a job at the moment,"

I glanced at my watch, "Oh, god, sorry, I have to go," I gave her an apologetic look, "Work and all,"

Sheridan nodded, and didn't seem that upset, "We should meet again. Today's Sunday, so how about same time next week? I'll be here,"

I nodded, and we planned to meet again. Just as I was about to nip into the bathroom to retrieve my bag, she leaned over and kissed me on the cheek. I blushed and raced to the bathroom, tripping over my high heels.

I returned home around 12 at night, and Sherlock wasn't in. I wasn't too concerned though, he was probably off solving some murder.

I hid my bag, and crawled into bed.


	4. Chapter 4

**John's POV**

I woke up the next morning, and travelled into the living room, just like I had done the previous day. Luckily (For me and Sherlock) I wasn't drunk, nor did I have a hangover.

I was just extremely tired.

I yawned, and Sherlock glanced up from the couch where he sat in his usual position.

"Late night?" He asked. I yawned again, "I'll take that as a yes,"

I chuckled, and sat on the couch, "You?"

Sherlock shrugged, "I guess so,"

"Come on, you had a late night, admit it," I teased, "You weren't in when I got back,"

Sherlock shrugged, but I knew he knew I was right.

"So, what were you doing?"

"Nothing really. Get my phone,"

"Where is it?" I asked.

"Pocket,"

"Which one,"

"Shirt pocket,"

I rolled my eyes, and got off the couch, slipping my hand into Sherlock's shirt pocket. I paused. I looked at his face. He looked at me, waiting patiently. I snapped back into reality, and raised my eyebrow, taking my hand out his pocket.

"Eh, you're phone isn't there,"

Sherlock sat up sharply, and stared at me long and hard, in disbelief. He shook his head, then said, "I know,"

I raised my eyebrow again, "Why did you get me to do that then?"

"It was an experiment,"

**Sherlock's POV**

"Well I don't want to do you're stupid experiments!" John cried, and he marched off to the kitchen.

It had been an experiment. Kind of. I wanted to see what he would do. He paused, and locked eyes with mine.

Then I recognised those eyes.

Well, of course I did. It was John's eyes. Always have been.

But I saw those eyes last night.

Stupid! How did I not notice last night?

The way she sat, her body movements, her eyes.

Her eyes.

Jo was John.

**A/N: Dun, dun, dun! **


	5. Chapter 5

**John's POV**

I fluttered around the kitchen, making myself a cup of tea. If Sherlock wanted one for himself, he'd have to get up and do it. And we both knew that wasn't going to happen.

I felt Sherlock's gaze burning into my back, I turned around, and stared back at him.

"What do you want?"

"Nothing," Sherlock turned sharply, and picked up his violin. There was something on his mind, and he wasn't telling me.

"Sherlock, what's wrong?" I asked. Sherlock shook his head.

"Nothing,"

I sighed, and pinched the top of my nose. God, he was so difficult.

"I swear to God, Sherlock, if you don't tell me what's wrong-"

"The kettle's boiled," Sherlock said.

"What?"

"The kettle,"

I turned, and saw the kettle had indeed boiled. Damnit, Sherlock wasn't telling me anything.

Sunday came sooner than I had expected, which was good, because I'd had a crap week. Sherlock was being really withdrawn (which wasn't a surprise) and we'd had rubbish cases.

At least Sheridan would cheer me up.

As the time drew closer, I went into the living room.

"Sherlock, not that you'll care, but I'm going out,"

Sherlock, who was lying face down on the couch, merely grumbled.

I sighed and left the room.

**Sherlock's POV**

The second John had left, I slipped out the room. I had to get there soon, before John was there. Luckily I knew a short cut.

I got to the club, and changed, then searched for John.

He was sitting there, fiddling with the hem of the dress, looking around.

I crept up behind him, and grabbed his shoulders. He jumped, and turned around.

"Hey Sheridan," He grinned.

"Hey," I grinned.

I sat next to him, and we ordered drinks.

"So, how was your week?" I asked, although I already knew.

Jo- John- sighed, and rolled his eyes, "Crap,"

"What happened?"

John sighed, "Work's annoying me, my flat mate is pissing me off with all his bloody experiments and I just want two minutes sleep,"

"You're flatmate?" I raised my eyebrow. Of course, his flat mate was me, but I was interested about what he would say.

"Yeah, I mean, he's great and all, but he runs off half the time, and the other half he's shooting the wall, complaining or doing experiments,"

"And are you…" I thought of a choice of words, "Romantically involved with your flatmate?"

John shook his head, and fingered the rim of his wine glass, "No,"

"Would you like to be?"

John paused, and looked up at me, "I don't know," He admitted, "I'm so confused by everything,"

**John's POV**

Sheridan stared at me sympathetically, "Would you like to talk about it?"

I sighed, "It's just, he's perfect, but he's probably asexual, and if not, he's defiantly not gay,

"You don't know that for sure,"

I laughed, "You've obviously not met him. The day after we'd met we went to a Chinese restaurant and I asked him if he had a girlfriend, and he said it wasn't his area, so I asked if he had a boyfriend, and he said no, then he said, "I'm flattered by your offer, but I consider myself married to my work,"

I laughed again, and took a drink.

Sheridan pouted, "What about me?" She asked. I smiled weakly.

"You're great, it's just-"

"No, I understand," She said, "I like someone too,"

I grinned, "So what's going on in your week?"

She shrugged, "The usual boring rubbish,"

"I'm sure it's not that boring,"

"You have no idea, John," Sheridan smiled and took a drink. I froze.

"Did you just call me John?" My voice shook. Sheridan glanced at me. I gasped, "Sherlock,"

"John, I'm so sorry, I was going to tell you but-"

I shook my head, breathing faster than I had before. The lights were too bright. My head spun, I had to get out.

"No," I said, "No, no, no, Sherlock,"

I stood up, and he stood up too. I pushed him away and ran out. He followed.

God, who knew it was so difficult to run in high heels?

"John," Sherlock called. I kept running.

We continued the pursuit until we got to the front door of 221B. I looked behind me, and ran right into someone.

"John…?"

Lestrade. I panted. How did he know it was me? My wig. My wig had slipped when I was running. I put it back into place.

"Sherlock?" Lestrade looked behind me. I turned too, and Sherlock joined us, panting heavily.

"What on Earth are you to doing running around London dressed like woman?"

I struggled to find an excuse, when Sherlock butted in.

"It's an experiment Lestrade, now unless you have anything important to tell us, please go away,"

Lestrade shook his head, "I was just in the area, eh, I'll be going now,"

Lestrade walked away, shaking his head in disbelief.

John shot Sherlock a look, and the walked into 221B in silence.


	6. Chapter 6

**John's POV**

I marched into 221B Baker Street, Sherlock following me. The second in entered the flat, I headed to my bedroom.

"John!" Sherlock called after me.

"What Sherlock?" I rolled my eyes, "I don't want to talk to you right now,"

"John, please, I'm sorry," I turned, and looked at Sherlock, still in his dress. He pulled off his wig, "I was going to tell you,"

I threw my arms out, "When Sherlock? Next week? Next month? Or where you going to wait until I figured it out," I growled, "You humiliated me,"

Sherlock didn't reply. I turned to leave the room, when I grumbled, "And thanks to you, Lestrade saw us prancing about in dresses and high heels,"

"That was not my fault!" Sherlock argued. I sighed, and stormed away.

**Sherlock's POV**

After John left, I stood for a second. My fault? Hardly. I got changed into my usual clothes, when suddenly, my phone rang.

I picked up, "Sherlock Holmes,"

"So Greg tells me you've been running about London in a dress?"

"You know I've done worse Mycroft," I spat, "And it was an experiment,"

"Are you sure?" I could picture Mycroft raising his eyebrow and titling his head to the side.

I hung up, and sank onto the couch, head in my hands. My phone went off again. This time, a text.

**A dress? Donovan was right. –A**

**Oh, sod off Anderson. Just because Sally dumped you, again, doesn't mean you should inflict your opinion on the world. –SH**

**What? How did you know? –A**

**You're usually on first names bases with Sally, unless, of course, you've had a little domestic. What was it this time? –SH**

**Piss off. –A**

I smiled. Another battle one. When my phone went off again, I almost didn't answer.

"Lestrade?"

"Yeah, Sherlock, we need you down the station," Greg said.

"A case?"

"Yeah, a murder, no apparent case,"

"I'm on my way,"

I approached John's door, "John, are you coming?"

There was a shuffling of feet as his approached the door. He emerged, in his usual jumper and jeans, and nodded.

I paused, "Well, you head down to the station. I'll join you in twenty minutes,"

John raised his eyebrows, "I'm not even going to ask,"

**A/N: Yeah, I know, it's disappointing. But wait until the next chapter! Oh, I am not going to really dwell on the case, because I am trying to focus on John and Sherlock's relationship. Sorry!**


	7. Chapter 7

**John's POV**

"Eh, where's Sherlock?"

"Don't know, he said he would come by later, and told me to just head up,"

Suddenly, the door swung open. It was Sally Donovan.

"Freak's here, you might want to see this,"

Greg and I glanced at each other, and hurried out the room.

"What the hell?"

Greg, Sally and I stood and watched as Sherlock made his way down the hall, receiving some very rude comments from police officers and other staffs members, mainly Anderson.

Why?

Because Sherlock was wearing a dress, wig, high heels, and trench coat that he always wore.

Sherlock ignored the comments, and walked over to us.

"Sherlock- what the hell?" Greg said.

I grabbed Sherlock, and dragged him to the side.

"Oh, going in for a snog?" Anderson called over.

"Anderson- shut up," Greg said.

"Sherlock," I whispered furiously, "What are you trying to prove here?"

"Nothing John, this is who I am, and I have a right to dress how I want,"

He brushed past me, and said to Greg, "Walk and talk,"

I groaned, and followed them down to the morgue.

**Sherlock's POV**

I had guessed the case before I'd even seen the body or crime scene. I was probably right. I always was.

We entered the morgue.

"Oh, hello," Molly said, cheerful as always. She looked up, "Your…dressed like a woman,"

"Well of course I am Molly, please don't state the obvious, it's very boring, where's the body?" John shot me a look.

"No, I was just going to say, you look good," Molly giggled nervously, "Better than how I dress anyway,"

"Oh," I was shocked, "Thanks,"

I turned, and John looked away angrily. Lestrade just shook his head, "An experiment?" He asked-he hoped.

"No, Lestrade," I sighed.

Molly led us to the body. Ah, I was correct.

"It was the husband," I told Lestrade. He rubbed the back of his neck.

"Don't you want to see the crime scene first?"

"No, I'm right Lestrade, and you know it, now go and arrest him,"

I'd left the room before he could reply.


	8. Chapter 8

**John's POV**

"What point were you trying to prove there?" I yelled at Sherlock. We were home by now. Sherlock was lying upside down on the couch, eyes closed, but I knew he was listening.

"Point?"

"Yes Sherlock, there had to be some reason why you walked into the station dressed like a woman,"

Sherlock opened one eye, glanced up at me, then closed it again, "Because that's who I am, John,"

I faced palmed, "You just don't get it, do you?"

I stormed off before he could say anything.

**Sherlock's POV**

The second John left, my phone began to ring again.

"It's Lestrade. We couldn't arrest the husband. He escaped, and he's killed someone again, we need you to come down to the crime scene,"

"Right, text me the details, I'll be there in twenty minutes,"

The pause told me Lestrade wanted to question me about today, but I hung up before he could reply. I knocked on John's bedroom door.

"John? There's a case. We need to go down to the crime scene,"

I heard shuffling as his feet got closer to the door. He came over, "A new case,"

"No exactly. The husband escaped and killed again,"

John nodded, "Right, give me ten minutes,"

As I waited, Lestrade texted me the details, and I adjusted my dress. I'd need to get one that fitted better.

I heard the door open, "Ah, John good, Lestrade text me the details so we can-"

I stared. John stood in front of me, wearing jeans and a jumper. However, the jeans were most certainly a tigher fit, which hugged his surprisingly good figure, and the jumper was definetly a woman's jumper. He wore a blonde, shoulder length wig, and was that a splash of make-up on?

"What?" John looked a bit frightened.

"You look...fantastic," I said, and I meant it.

John smiled, "Are we going or not?"


	9. Chapter 9

**John's POV**

What the hell was I doing?

We walked into the crime scene (a hotel room), and meet Greg, Sally and Anderson.

"Oh God, not you too," Anderson said.

"Please, someone tell me this is an experiment," Greg sighed. Sally just smirked.

"No, it's not an experiment, this is who we are, now can you please shut up, I need to think," Sherlock snapped. Suddenly, Greg's phone began to ring. He excused himself, and left the room.

Sally and Anderson snorted. They began to make rude comments, ones I can't bear repeating. Sherlock fumed.

"Get out," He growled.

"Excuse me? We work here, this is our crime scene, so I think not," Sally crossed her arms.

"What will it take for me to get rid of you?" Sherlock rolled his eyes.

Anderson began to speak, when Sherlock had decided he'd had enough. He turned around, grabbed the front of my jumper, and kissed me.

**Sherlock's POV**

"Oh, for God's sake!" Anderson cried, throwing his arms in the air and running out the room.

"Freak, you really get off on this," Sally hissed, joining Anderson. I didn't let go until I was sure they'd left.

John jumped back. "WHAT. THE. HELL."

"I needed to get them out," I turned, and pulled out my micro-lense, examining the victim's body.

John made a couple of angry grunts, before continuing to shout, "Sherlock, just, what, couldn't you have waited until Lestrade kicked them out?"

"Obviously not," I rolled my eyes, then paused. Anderson and Sally where coming back, and they were bringing Lestrade. Damn, I though I'd have longer.

I turned, and pulled John towards me again before he could protest, and slammed our lips together.

"See?" Anderson cried. I saw Lestrade out of the corner of my eye. He raised his eyebrow, then turned to the others.

"Maybe we should give them a minute," He said slowly, and dragged the other two out.

**John's POV**

They left the room again, but Sherlock didn't pull back. The kiss wasn't a pleasant on. We were pressed against each other, and if we continued like this, my lips would probably burst.

I weakened underneath him, and aloud him more access.

"Sherlock," I whispered, our noses touching, lips still dangerous close, "Shouldn't we be working on the case?"

"Shut up," Sherlock grumbled, pulling me into another kiss.

**A/N: AT LAST! JOHNLOCK! **


	10. Chapter 10

**John's POV**

Over the course of the next few weeks, several things changed:

Sherlock and I kiss more frequently. And it's fuckin' amazing if I do say so myself. In the kitchen if he's done a successful experiement, in the hallway (Mrs Hudson isn't too happy about that one), in the living room, and even in crime scenes occasionally (Anderson REALLY isn't happy about that one) when he solves the case.

As I mentioned earlier, Mrs Hudson found out. Not because we were making out in the landing outside her room. She just knew. It was like some womanly sixth sense, because when we got home that day, she bustled into our apartment saying "I've made some cake to celebrate!" When I asked her what we were celebrating, she said, "The new couple of course- you and Sherlock! Don't think I didn't know!" And then she cut us some cake. I managed to get Sherlock to have a bit, and I think he actually liked it.

Sherlock fell out with Mycroft again, and broke his beloved phone in the process. Mycroft texted Sherlock and I that night, saying, "Congratulations," Sherlock being Sherlock, he went on a rant about how Mycroft was out to ruin his life by spying on him and sending sarcastic texts. When I pointed out he was only trying to be polite, he hurled his phone at the wall and it shattered. Guess who got the blame? Mycroft.

Lastly, I moved into Sherlock's room. His bedroom is bigger, neater, and it's certainly more cozy. Sherlock is even coming to bed more often now, and we sleep with out arms around each other. Right now, I'd say life is perfect.

**Sherlock's POV**

Over the next weeks, many dismal things have happened which have only rendered my life more tedious and dull.

John insists on public displays of affection. I don't mind the occasional kiss, in the comfort of our own home where only Mycroft and his stupid CCTV can see us (Mental note: Discover where his cameras are and destroy them.), but not on crime scene's when I am trying to solve something, or when I've just finished and experiment and all I want is a damn shower.

Mrs Hudson found out. As much as I respect the woman, and see her as my second mother, I despise the fact she somehow discovered. How did she do it? She slammed into our apartment the same say with a cake, telling us to eat it and celebrate. John of course, forced me to have a bit. Couldn't he see I was in the middle of an important experiment? I didn't want to upset Mrs Hudson however, and managed to swallow a bit. I even told her I like it, just so John would stop giving me that look. Of course, by the time Mrs Hudson left, my experiment was ruined and I was in a bad mood.

Mycroft ruined my life, once again. He had the nerve to text John and I saying "Congratulations," just to show off that his fancy cameras show everything, and we can't keep a secret. His text was clearly sarcasm and he's just jealous because his diet isn't working and he'll never get Lestrade to fall in love with him with a stomach like that. And of course, if Mycroft hadn't texted me, I wouldn't have tripped and broke my phone.

John moved into my room. Why? Is that what couples do? Surely his bed is good enough? I love John dearly, but I can't trust him in my room. So I've had to lie in bed with him when he's sleeping to make sure his doesn't tamper with my stuff. And when he falls asleep, he latches himself onto me and I can't move. Admittedly, it is sort of…nice. And sometimes, I return the favour.

**A/N: I thought this would make a nice change. Sherlock and John's POVs of the exact same thing. I hope you enjoyed! **


	11. Chapter 11

**John's POV**

Sherlock and I were walking out the bar, holding hands. It was late, and cold, but the flat was only a five minute walk away so there was no point in getting a cab. We turned the corner, and saw a group of neds. I tighten my grip around Sherlock's hand. They always made me feel uncomfortable, in their hoodies and trackies.

One of them turned, and saw us.

"Oh my God, look at those queers,"

Sherlock narrowed his eyebrows as the other's, about five of them, began to laugh loudly.

"Fuckin' fag," Another said.

Sherlock began to walk over to them.

"Sherlock leave it," I begged. I was tired, and my shoulder was acting up. I couldn't be bothered with a fight tonight.

"No,"

The neds sniggered, "Having a wee domestic, are we, yah poofs?"

Then I noticed one of them was holding a brick.

**Sherlock's POV**

"Sherlock, come on, don't say anything, they have a brick," John pulled at my sleeve.

"No, John," I pulled my arm back and glanced at the boy closest to us. It was quite easy to deduce his life story purely from his bright red track suit. "Hmmm. Secretly gay, abusive father, alcoholic mother, should I continue?"

"What the fuck?" The red track suited boy said. Someone else swore.

"Messin' with us, are you?"

That's when I saw the brick hurling past my head.

I spun sharply.

"JOHN!"

**A/N: Many apologised for the short, shitty chapter. But I'm battling a massive writers block, so don't be hating. **

**Also, if there is any situations you want to see the characters get into, you can request it! **


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